


Thirteen Signs

by rose_malmaison



Category: NCIS
Genre: Boyfriends, Drama, Established Relationship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2858474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rose_malmaison/pseuds/rose_malmaison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony and Jethro discover that no matter how imperfect they both are, there are lots of reasons they are perfect for each other. SHORT STORIES I WILL ADD TO AT RANDOM TIMES.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fun

**Author's Note:**

> This is a WIP and as I begin it I have no idea where it's going or when I'll continue it. You can offer suggestions as to what chapter 2's story (or beyond) might entail if you like.
> 
> Warnings: sex, language, violence, threats of punishment (spanking). More warnings may apply in later chapters. 
> 
> Spoilers: up to Season 10 though probably nothing specific

 This fic is based upon one of those women's magazine lists. You know the type of list: Ten Top Diet Foods with Pizzazz, 5 Things You Should Never Do With Your Hair, etc. I edited a list I found at Cosmo so it would relate to Tony and Gibbs (DiNozzo/Gibbs) – or any slash couple.

**Thirteen Signs Your Boyfriend Is Perfect For You  
**  
1\. Being around him is always fun, no matter what the situation is.  
2\. He knows about your issues and your past but he loves you anyway.  
3\. He's always there for you.  
4\. He knows all your friends and even likes most of them.  
5\. He encourages you to try new things and expand your horizons.  
6\. He makes you feel like the most beautiful person in the world, even when you feel like crap.  
7\. He never picks up coffee without asking if you want him to grab you something too.  
8\. He keeps pictures of you in his wallet and blushes when you find out.  
9\. He remembers details about your friends and cares enough to ask about them.  
10\. He cares about your physical needs.  
11\. He understands that you need to take time for yourself.  
12\. He totally supports your dreams and goals.  
13\. He's always excited to see you.

*** –***

1\. Being around him is always fun, no matter what the situation is.

*** –***

Tony was hunkered down behind a huge fallen tree right next to Gibbs. He had no sooner opened his mouth to ask Gibbs a question when there was a shot and a bullet thunked into the wood a few inches from his head, showering pulverized bark and crap all over his head. Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Tony brushed bits out of his hair. "Isn't he going to make a move? We've been out here for an hour already and my ass is starting to freeze."

Tony turned and rose to his knees. He aimed carefully and took a shot, hitting a branch right over the spot where their murder suspect, Master Chief Petty Officer Harold Detroit, had gone to ground. The heavy branch made a sharp cracking sound and fell to the ground. Tony laughed with glee when he heard a muffled shout.

A second later the petty officer fired at them, once again hitting the tree trunk close to where Tony was crouching in preparation of taking another shot.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs grabbed Tony by the jacket and pulled him down and out of harm's way. "You do that again and I'll make sure you get plenty of feeling in that ass of yours," he threatened. "I'll warm it up right quick with the flat of my hand."

Tony stayed down, eyes on his boss. "Oooh, does this mean that from now on you're going to be slapping my rear end instead of my head at work? Because, Boss, people will start to talk."

"Yeah, well, if it feels like a slap when I spank that butt of yours, DiNozzo, then I must not be doing it hard enough. I could upgrade to a paddle," Gibbs said with a growl.

"No, that's okay Boss, it hurts plenty when you spank me," Tony assured him, smiling at the memory of the last time Jethro had given him twenty strikes as punishment for talking back. Of course that was in the privacy of their own home. "It's a good hurt though," he added as he reached into the pocket of his field jacket and located a spare magazine. He quickly and efficiently reloaded his Sig and asked, "How many magazines you got left?"

Gibbs was on his stomach peering through a gap between the tree's limbs, his Sig braced against a steady limb. Every now and then, he would take a shot, keeping their murder suspect pinned down. So far the man, who was taking cover forty yards away, had kept out of sight, otherwise Gibbs would have taken him out by now. Without taking his eyes off the target, he said, "Got two left."

Tony surveyed the gray sky, which was quickly turning a darker shade of gray, along with the promise of a chilly fall night. "Let's hope that'll be enough. I mean, the way he's dug in and the fact our phones don't work out here in boonie-land means we're gonna spend all night taking pot shots at each other. Or else he's going to sneak up on us under cover of darkness and slit our throats, and our friends will never find our bodies because all our tasty bits will be eaten by hungry bears. That is, unless we come up with a plan real soon, like maybe I should go out there and give him a moving target and when he pops up you can take him out?"

Gibbs turned his head to glare at Tony before going back to his sniper stance. "You finished?"

"Uh, not really. See–"

"It's not gonna happen."

"You mean the being eaten by bears bit or the thing about us coming up with a plan to draw him out?"

"You as a target!"

Gibbs seemed seriously annoyed at the suggestion, but Tony was perfectly willing to risk his life by acting as a carnival game target if Gibbs asked him to, because he really wanted to survive this shootout so they could spend the night warm in their comfy, warm bed. Time for a new plan. "Okay, how about we both charge and you zig to the left and I zag the right and–"

"Nope. Won't be necessary."

"Why not?"

In reply, Gibbs pulled the trigger of his gun, and immediately they heard a sharp cry from the direction of their quarry's foxhole. Tony stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it around. "Ooow! Geez, you could have warned me, Boss," he complained.

Gibbs snorted. "You needed a warning?"

"Well, yeah–" Tony said.

"Tough luck."

Suddenly, Gibbs threw him to the ground, his mouth meeting Tony's, his cold nose ramming into Tony's cheek, and his hot tongue probing into his mouth, so demanding and so fucking hot that Tony almost forgot where they were. Before he could do much more than moan and angle his head in order to get more of Gibbs's inquisitive tongue, Gibbs pulled back, smirking.

"I don't give warnings."

Tony, his eyes wide, breathing at the sudden kiss and the just-as-sudden retreat, managed to say, "I'll have to remember that." Gibbs was still draped on top of him, his weight pressing Tony into the hard and unforgiving ground, his knee grinding against Tony's groin. His voice high and wheezing, Tony struggled to say, "Your knee…"

"You don't like my knee right there?" Gibbs grinned and shifted his knee back and forth against Tony's burgeoning erection.

"Oh, Jesus, yes, yes…love it, Boss, but…shouldn't we be checking whether our guy is alive or not?"

"He's dead," Gibbs said confidently. Just the same, he rose to his feet and held out his hand to help Tony up, warning, "Stay low."

Tony accepted Gibbs's help and, once he was standing, brushed the leaves off his clothing. "Thought you got him."

"Never assume," Gibbs retorted, then made his way cautiously through the woods with Tony following at his six.

Sure enough, their suspect was dead, a neat hole in his forehead. The back of his head was gone and he lay in a large pool of blood. Tony asked, "Damn, why'd he have to put up such a fight?"

"Because he killed three people and what are a couple more?"

Tony sighed as he secured the petty officer's weapon. "This mean we're going to be out here all night?"

Gibbs grunted and said, "We have to find a cellphone signal to call it in. You mean you don't want to stay here with the body?"

"Alone in these woods at night? It's almost dark." Tony looked around, half expecting to see wild animals circling them.

Gibbs chuckled and wrapped an arm around Tony's shoulders, pulling him close for a hug. "Don't worry, I'm not leaving you out here on your own, DiNozzo. With any luck, you'd get lost and I'd end up spending my entire free weekend searching for you."

"Whew! I knew you wouldn't leave me here alone, Boss. So does this mean we can hike back to the car, call it in, and have a make-out session in the back seat until the emergency response van arrives?" Tony asked eagerly. "Might as well have some fun, right?"

"You think this is fun?"

"Uh, dead guy? No. Us being together in the woods? Definitely. Why, don't you?"

Gibbs faced Tony and kissed him possessively, his hands gripping Tony's ass with rough fingers. Tony groaned and gave himself up to the sensation of Gibbs grinding against him. As always, he was immediately aroused by the way his lover took control as if it were his right. Actually, Tony had given him that right a long time ago, and certainly neither of them were complaining.

They broke apart reluctantly, panting and grinning at each other like idiots. Tony asked, "So are we having fun yet?"

Gibbs laughed. "Oh yeah. C'mon, it's getting dark." He broke a small branch and pointed it at the location of the body and then said, "This way." As they walked through the ever-darkening woods, he took Tony's hand and gave it a squeeze.

Tony met his eyes. "Love you, Boss."

Gibbs grinned. "Oh, I can see that, Tony."

*** –*** end *** –***

 


	2. Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thirteen Signs. Number two is: He knows about your issues and your past but he loves you anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: Combatcrazy  
> Note: Any statistics on spousal homicide in this story are entirely fabricated.

**Chapter 2 – Issues**

2\. He knows about your issues and your past but he loves you anyway.

 

 

"DiNozzo, get over here!"

 

Tony turned away from the woman he was interviewing at the crime scene, and looked in Gibbs' direction, still smiling. Gibbs was scowling. No big surprise there. It was barely six a.m. and they were already on a case, and he knew for a fact that his boss had only had once cup of coffee this morning. Not a good combination.

 

They were standing in front of the home of the late Petty Officer Phillip White, who had been found lying face down (and dead) in front of the open (and empty) safe in his den, the victim of an apparent burglary.

 

The boss had been in a bad mood even before they'd arrived at the scene, and things had not improved. Tony's knee-jerk reaction was to rebel, if only by taking his time completing his conversation with their only witness, a neighbor who had been out walking her dog. As soon as he was finished with the woman, he'd track down some coffee for Gibbs; one of the neighbors would surely have a pot brewing.

 

Mrs. Sandra Bluemantle, age 30, husband overseas, was wearing a revealing silky robe over her nightgown along with a pair of incongruous bunny slippers on her feet. Not only was she an attractive redhead but a flirtatious one. Nothing too blatant; it was the way she touched Tony's arm in a familiar manner while she explained how she had seen their murder suspect leaving her next-door neighbor's house at four in the morning.

 

"Matisse needed to go out even though he already did his business before bedtime," she explained, smiling fondly at the small poodle that was busy sniffing Tony's leg. "Like I said, I saw that man getting into a car in a big hurry. And when I saw Phillip's…Mr. White's door was left wide open I called the police and…you turned up." Her eyes filled with tears at the thought of her neighbor's untimely death.

 

Gibbs was still staring at Tony. "DiNozzo! Today!"

 

They were far enough away from each other that Gibbs had to shout, but it was the tone of his voice that caused Tony's eyes to narrow. Something had the boss's undies in a twist but Tony didn't appreciate being barked at while at a crime scene, or anywhere else, for that matter. At home, he could handle it, talk back or lighten the mood as needed. Here, in front of cops, neighbors and his teammates, was not the place to deal with a bad temper caused by who-knows-what. Tony had a hunch it was about something more than lack of caffeine.

 

Ziva and Tim, who were taking photos and fingerprints just inside the front door of the murdered petty officer's home, stopped to look from Gibbs to Tony and back to Gibbs. Tony studiously ignored them; he knew what they were up to. By now they were taking bets on how long it would take Tony to obey Gibbs' command, and how hard Gibbs would headslap Tony as soon as he got within arm's reach.

 

Dorneget wasn't in on the speculation only because he was just up the street where a neighbor had a security camera at the front of his house as a crime preventative. Hopefully they would pull something useful off it.

 

Before heading over to his boss's side, Tony took a moment to verify Mrs. Bluemantle's phone numbers. "And _that_ one is my cell, Agent DiNozzo. You can reach me _any_ time," she said, leaning into Tony as she pointed a finger adorned with bright red nail polish at his notebook.

 

"That's good to know, ma'am."

 

"Please, call me Sandra," she said and leaned into him once again, her robe slipping open to reveal even more milky skin. Tony, being Tony, didn't avert his eyes but he didn't step any closer to her, either. Sandra looked in the direction of Petty Officer White's house, obviously distressed. "It's such a shame about poor Phillip. He was such a lovely man. When his wife moved out a few months ago, he was devastated and he's been trying to pick up the pieces ever since. And now this…"

 

"Believe me, I will be talking to the wife," said Tony, thinking this could very well be another case that supported his theory that wives committed most crimes involving married/divorced couples. He escorted Sandra to her door and once she and her dog were safely inside he took a deep breath and prepared to face the lions – or, in this case, one silver-haired lion.

 

Gibbs was talking to a pair of local cops but as soon as he saw Tony approaching he finished up his conversation. His expression could best be described as inscrutable as he watched Tony approach. No stranger to Gibbs' moods, Tony could tell that something was simmering beneath his neutral façade.

 

As Tony passed by McGee, the younger agent muttered, "Don't antagonize him, Tony."

 

Ziva called after Tony, "No date? Did she turn you down?"

 

Without even looking at her, Tony replied, "Not my type, Ziva." He heard her asking Tim what that meant, but if Tim replied, Tony didn't hear him.

 

Tony started to talk to Gibbs in a hushed voice, but got no further than, "Jethro, you want to tell me–" when Gibbs spoke right over him. "You get anything out of the neighbors, DiNozzo?"

 

Okay, so it was going to be all business. Tony knew better. He shouldn't have tried, not here and now. One of their rules – the new Tony/Jethro rules – was to keep everything separate. Jethro and Tony were used after hours, not at work. No touching, no teasing, nothing personal. No inside jokes, no shared rides to work, no wearing each other's clothing (although Tony figured that nobody except for Jethro could possibly know Tony was wearing his boxers underneath his slick suit today.)

 

"Neighbors? Sure, Boss. I got a partial plate and description of the car the suspect drove away in. None of the neighbors have any idea who would hit Petty Officer White with a candlestick in the conservatory." Gibbs started to say something and Tony quickly corrected himself. "Okay, technically it's a _den_ and not a conservatory but you know…Colonel Mustard? Candlestick? _Clue_? The board game?" Gibbs was frowning so Tony quickly said, "Okaaaay, maybe not."

 

The NCIS Medical Examiner's van pulled up. Tony called out, "Hey, Ducky. Morning, Jimmy." The ME and his assistant greeted them as they wheeled the gurney, loaded with equipment, up the front walk. Gibbs nodded to Ducky but apparently that was all they were going to get out of him.

 

As Palmer passed by Tony he said eagerly, "I love playing _Clue_. The Tudor mansion with the billiard room and lounge, and the cute little weapons, the knife and gun and candelabra."

 

Ducky added, "A fine game of deduction, originally conceived by a solicitor's clerk from Leeds in 1946."

 

"We should have a game night sometime. With _real_ board games," Tony said to Ducky, avoiding Gibbs' darkening gaze.

 

"Mr. Palmer? Please…" Ducky indicated he needed Palmer's assistance to get the gurney up the front steps and into the house.

 

"Of course, Dr. Mallard!"

 

As soon as they were gone, Gibbs prompted Tony with a growl, "The victim, DiNozzo?"

 

"Sure Boss." Tony flipped through his notes and continued his report. "So, Petty Officer White was a nice guy with no enemies and a low security clearance according to his CO. White has an estranged wife who lives locally with their two young kids and was very upset at the prospect of divorce, says Mrs. Sandra Bluemantle. Apparently the petty officer has a coin collection, now missing, which is worth a pretty penny. That intel is courtesy of Mr. Sam Brown, who lives in the green house across the road and played poker with our victim. Colorful lot."

 

McGee emerged from the house. "Is Tony going to bag and tag, or should I?"

 

Tony looked to Gibbs for an answer. "Boss?"

 

"You got the make and model of the car?" Gibbs asked impatiently, holding out a hand to Tony.

 

"Sure." Tony tore the page with the info on it from his notebook and Gibbs just about snatched it from his fingers.

 

"McGee, track down this car. Take Ziva with you. I want this wrapped up today."

 

McGee took the slip of paper and handed the evidence collection bag to Tony. "Ducky's about to move the body."

 

With a bright smile, Ziva joined them, saying to Tony, "Don't forget to get samples of the bodily fluids from the carpet once Ducky has moved the body. Blood and brains are embedded in the lime green shag rug…" She shuddered and hurried to get in the company sedan with McGee before Gibbs changed his mind.

 

Gibbs demanded of Tony, "Why isn't the witness heading to the office to give her statement?"

 

"Oh, well, you see, Sandra had to…" Tony began, pointing towards Mrs. Bluemantle's house.

 

Gibbs cut Tony off. "Sandra? You get _Sandra_ in a car and to NCIS right away!"

 

"But Boss…"

 

"You got a problem with following orders today, DiNozzo?"

 

Okay, that was unfair. Tony smiled, all teeth and no warmth. "Uh, no Boss…only…see, she has these bunny slippers on."

 

Gibbs practically spat, "What?"

 

Tony replied, slowly and evenly, "Mrs. Bluemantle was still in her nightclothes – a very pretty ensemble that includes bunny slippers – so she went inside to get changed. So you see, Agent Gibbs, as soon as she's dressed I can–"

 

"You get someone else to escort her," Gibbs ordered. " _You_ don't leave the scene."

 

"… I can get Dornegat to escort her back to the Yard," Tony finished. Angry-Gibbs was starting to get on his nerves, but he knew this was not the time or place to discuss whatever was bugging the man.

 

Jethro wasn't big on talking things out but he was a fair man, and the few times they'd quarreled he'd make an effort to make things right. If he were at fault, Jethro would apologize in some indirect way, although sometimes it took some prodding from Tony to get him to actually speak any words.

 

Tony met Gibbs' eyes, hoping to see something to help him understand what was going on, but Gibbs had a wall up that looked pretty impenetrable. Tony said, "I'll just get back to work then."

 

Gibbs barely nodded before he turned away.

 

Tony sighed and went to work taking additional photos of the crime scene after the body was removed. McGee and Ziva had almost completed that aspect of gathering evidence by the time they'd left, so Tony was left to do diagrams and bag evidence, which he did with his usual efficiency. By the time he'd completed his job and helped Palmer and Ducky get the body safely secured in the ME's vehicle, Sandra…Mrs. Bluemantle…had been whisked off to the Navy Yard by Agent Dorneget.

 

Tony stowed the gear in the NCIS truck and Gibbs drove them back to the Yard in what could only be termed an uncomfortable silence. Not that Tony was silent; he chattered about mystery movies – and Hercule Poirot and _Murder, She Wrote_ , and why the 1997 Norwegian thriller, _Insomnia,_ with Stellan Skarsgård as the cop who accidentally shoots his partner while on a chase, was far superior to the Pacino remake set in Alaska – until he thought Gibbs was going to slap him.

 

It wasn't until they had parked and were rising to their floor in the elevator (and still no headslap) that Tony mentioned Sandra Bluemantle – and Gibbs muttered, "Di _Noz_ zo," between clenched teeth – that Tony realized what was going on: Jethro was jealous. Tony would have head-slapped himself if he'd been alone. How it had slipped by him was baffling, but now he knew what was bugging his boyfriend, he would be able to fix it. After all, he had no interest in the very attractive Mrs. Bluemantle, or any other woman, and Jethro knew that. Or he should by now.

 

But then Tony remembered that Jethro had been all growly before they had ever reached the scene. It might have been because they were awakened at the crack of dawn after a short night (due to an extended and amazing fuckfest that involved Tony getting fisted while being securely cuffed to all four points of their sturdy bed) or something else was going on.

 

Tony glanced at Jethro as they stepped out of the elevator, but the man's expression made it clear that he was not approachable. Their talk – and they _would_ have one – was going to have to wait until that evening when they were back home. Tony was going to have to remind Jethro that, even if he could take whatever Jethro dished out, at home or in the field, he certainly didn't deserve to bear the brunt of Jethro's ill temper.

 

***–***

 

Dorneget had finished taking Sandra Bluemantle's statement and was ready to take her back home, but she stopped at Tony's desk on the way out. "Are you sure you can't take me, Agent DiNozzo?" Sandra asked while holding onto Tony's arm.

 

"Dorneget! You take Mrs. Bluemantle home," Gibbs barked. "DiNozzo, find the wife."

 

Ziva and McGee had no trouble matching the car with a name, but they couldn’t locate their suspect until the afternoon. By the time they brought their primary suspect, one Oliver Braun, in for questioning, Tony had located Violet White, the estranged wife of Petty Officer White.

 

Gibbs told Mrs. White about her husband's death, which Ducky had determined to be murder by being bashed over the head with a candlestick. The woman broke down in tears, distraught, and Gibbs gave Tony the job of questioning her.

 

Tony stuck Mrs. White in one of the interrogation room to give her time to calm down while he figured out the best way to deal with her. No matter what Tony or McGee did, they couldn’t get any sense out of the woman, who hadn't stopped crying into a box of Kleenexes since she'd come into NCIS.

 

They were about to give up when Ziva moved them aside and took charge of the interrogation because, she said, "I would like to go home before midnight."

 

Fifteen minutes later Ziva had extracted a confession from the widow and was smiling smugly at her teammates who had been watching from behind the one-way mirror.

 

Violet White, it turned out, had been served divorce papers only the day before. She admitted that she was afraid she wouldn't get her share of property in the divorce settlement and that she and her kids would end up in the street. In a move born of desperation, she had recruited Braun, her second cousin, to steal the rare coin collection. "I needed the money, but he wasn't supposed to hurt Phillip," she wailed. "He promised!"

 

Out in the hallway, Ziva said to Tony, "I do believe I have beaten my best time as far as breaking a suspect goes…and without using any tools or weapons."

 

"Speed-breaking, Ziva?" asked McGee. "Amazing considering how bad you were at speed dating."

 

Feeling sorry for the crying, broken woman in the interrogation room, Tony shook his head and said, "I'm sure Mossad would be proud of you, Ziva."

 

"Huh! All it took was a few tears and you and McGee ran from the room like babies," Ziva pointed out.

 

Tony smiled. "True, but at least this proves my theory that the wife always does it."

 

Ziva frowned. "No. She did not actually commit the murder."

 

McGee interjected, "Maybe not, but according to the statistical chart Abby is keeping on the frequency of marital murders compared to those committed by people not related to the victim, in 85% of the deaths we have investigated, the wife killed the husband – or influenced someone to do it for her – if a married couple was involved. In fact, wives are 80% more likely to kill their husbands than the other way around, and wives are 75% more likely to be acquitted of such a crime than the husband would be. So Tony is right."

 

Tony grinned and high-fived McGee. "Way to go, Probie! Guess we should be happy that Ziva isn't married to either of us."

 

Ziva flipped her hair over her shoulder and sauntered away muttering, "In your dreams!"

 

Meanwhile, Gibbs interrogated Oliver Braun, who had a long history of burglary. Their suspect got nervous and implicated himself in the murder of the petty officer, probably because he was scared shitless due to the way Gibbs stalking around the room, slamming his hand on the steel table hard enough to cause the huge mirror to tremble.

 

By seven o'clock they had pretty much wrapped everything up, and Gibbs told them to go home.

 

Normally, Tony would have waited for Gibbs to leave and walked out with him, even if they had driven to work in separate cars, but not tonight. Gibbs may not have been barking at him since they'd left the scene of the crime, but he'd been giving Tony the cold shoulder all afternoon, and Tony wasn't very happy about it. He'd done his job well and they had worked together to bring a murderer to justice. Grabbing his things, Tony followed on McGee's heels and slipped into the elevator. He didn't have to raise his eyes to know that Gibbs wasn't taking his eyes off him.

 

Tim started in on Tony before the elevator doors even closed. "Did you do something to put Gibbs in a foul mood?"

 

"I'm sorry, were you expecting Mr. Nice Guy? This _is_ Gibbs we're talking about," Tony said glibly.

 

Tim replied, "Okay, we know what the second B stands for, Tony, but he was watching you all day like he expected…"

 

"Expected you to _fail_ ," Ziva finished up with a nod.

 

"I wasn't going to say that, Ziva," Tim hissed, apparently annoyed that she was putting words in his mouth. She looked surprised.

 

"Well, I made sure to cross the Is and dot the Ts," Tony replied with a tight smile. "It was all by the book, no thanks to Gibbs scaring our suspects before we even started asking them anything."

 

"Mr. Braun was quaking in his pants," Ziva said with a little smile, as if it were a fond memory.

 

"Boots," said Tim and Tony at the same time.

 

"Quaking in his boots," Tony said. "Let me guess. You were the kind of kid who pulled the wings off flies and drew a circle of glue around them. Right, Ziva?"

 

Ziva made a dismissive gesture and said, "Fear is a good motivator, and we used it to our advantage at Mossad. But…you know something about being scared by Mossad interrogators, do you not, Tony?"

 

"Hey, after facing Gibbs in a bad mood, what's one pissed off foreign interrogator?" asked Tony with a nonchalant shrug.

 

Tony stepped out of the elevator and headed for his car, too busy trying to figure out why Gibbs had been in such a pissy mood to care that his teammates were staring at his receding back.

 

"And, for your information, we played with scorpions," Ziva called after him.

 

* * * – * * *

 

By the time Gibbs walked in the back door two hours later, Tony had put together a meal of chicken stew and dumplings and was sitting in front of the TV watching the news, a beer in hand. Without even a word for Tony, Jethro went straight upstairs. Tony's heart sunk. This was not a good start. But when Jethro came down ten minutes later, having changed into old jeans and a t-shirt, he joined Tony on the couch. They weren't sitting close enough to touch, but at least Tony's experienced eye told him that Jethro was not quite so uptight as he had been all day.

 

Tony handed Jethro a beer and after he had taken a couple of swigs, Tony asked, his tone light, "So how was your day, honey?"

 

Jethro glanced sideways and said, with mild sarcasm, "Peachy. Yours?"

 

"I think peachy is my word, but I'll let you use it," Tony said good-naturedly. "My day? Now let me see…hmmm…" Tony made a big deal out of appearing to be deep in thought and then said, "You know, my day was a bitch. You wanna know why?"

 

Jethro sent him an impatient look that was the equivalent of an eye-roll but Tony wasn't put off by it.

 

"My day was a bitch because my boyfriend has been breaking rule number one all day long. Now I know it's tough to remember all our new Tony/Jethro rules, but I think, if you try _really_ hard, you can remember the first one." Tony waited but when it became evident that Jethro wasn’t going to take the bait, he recited, "Rule #1: Do not go around pissed all day without telling your boyfriend what the fuck is wrong with you."

 

Gibbs made a sound something between a grunt and a snort, and just when Tony was about to light into him, Jethro said abruptly, "I'm a bastard, okay?"

 

Not quite knowing what to do with that little bombshell of an admission, which might very well be a form of Gibbs-apology but still wasn't anywhere near enough to satisfy him, Tony stared at Jethro. He expected Jethro to expand upon his feelings, to give him something to work with, but after a long pause Tony realized how stupid he was to expect more. He tried anyway, prompting, "And this is because…?"

 

"What d'you expect from me?" Gibbs demanded impatiently.

 

"Uh, like how about an explanation?"

 

Gibbs shook his head mutely.

 

"That's it? Wow, guess by now I should have learned to squash any expectations of having anything resembling an actual conversation with you."

 

Gibbs turned his head and met Tony's eyes for the first time since he'd come home. Tony noted Gibbs was flushing a bit, and hoped it was because he was embarrassed to be caught out being such an ass. But he also noticed that Gibbs seemed drawn around the eyes and dog-tired, which he'd somehow managed to disguise while they were at work. Tony wondered what else Jethro had been keeping from him and for the first time since they'd been going out together, Tony was worried. He was also annoyed, to the brink of anger, because right from the start they'd agreed that they'd talk out any problems. Hence the Rule #1, which Jethro had apparently forgotten or ignored.

 

Luckily, Tony was patient – he had to be with Jethro and, after all, he'd waited for ten years for the man to admit he had feelings for him – and so he suppressed that anger inside of him. Getting mad didn't work with Jethro. It took a combination of humor, physical attention and food to get through to him as a rule. Yeah, the way to the man's heart was definitely through his stomach. Who'd have thought that a home-cooked meal on the table would turn Gibbs-with-two Bs into a big old softy?

 

Tony got to his feet and said, "I think the first order of the evening is for us to get some dinner." Gibbs made as if to rise but Tony motioned for him to stay put. "You stay. I've got it all ready," he said mildly, as if nothing was amiss.

 

Tony dished up a couple of bowls of stew and heated them in the microwave. Getting mad wasn't going to solve this problem, whatever it might be. He'd been with Jethro for five months now, as a couple, and he already knew that it was hard work – a lot harder than he'd anticipated. However, he loved Jethro more than he could say, and he would do whatever it took to keep their relationship healthy and secure.

 

Tony returned to the living room and put their bowls and utensils within easy reach on the coffee table. "Eat," Tony said, and after a moment's hesitation, Jethro did as he was told. Watching the news with half an eye, Tony dug into the stew. It had turned out pretty well considering he'd never attempted dumplings before. Besides, he discovered as soon as he took the first bite that he was famished.

 

Once Jethro was done, he wiped his mouth and grunted, "Good," and put his bowl aside on the coffee table. Acting as if it were the most natural thing, he stretched out and just happened to move a little closer to Tony. Their thighs were touching, as were their shoulders, and Tony knew it was Jethro's first step towards opening a dialog. They had a process they tended to follow that had, so far, worked out for them. First they touched, then they talked and apologized, and that would lead, more often than not, to making out and, if Tony was lucky, which he usually was, they'd progress to some hot sexy lovemaking, preferably upstairs in bed.

 

"You want to tell me what's bothering you?" Tony asked.

 

Jethro sighed and surprised Tony by getting to his feet. "You stay there," said Jethro. He went to the foyer and retrieved a large envelope from stack of mail on the table by the door. Once Jethro was seated again, he handed Tony a large envelope.

 

"It came this morning," Jethro said, sounding as if he disapproved of the mail.

 

Tony knew what it was the second it was in his hands. Oh shit. "Blue Water Cruises, Miami," he said, reading the large label with its cruise-ship logo.

 

"It came when you were out running this morning," Jethro said.

 

Tony turned to Jethro and started to explain. "Jethro–"

 

"And Steve called," Jethro added, not sounding too pleased.

 

"Steve Adler?" He was one of Tony's frat brothers. He lived in Baltimore and organized most of their reunions and gatherings. Tony cringed a little. "I must have given this number instead of my cell phone," he explained.

 

Jethro was eyeing Tony in a way that he equated with the gaze of a pissed-off lion about to leap upon its prey.

 

Tony asked cautiously, "What did Steve say?"

 

Jethro cast a sour look Tony's way. "He's calling you tonight about the cruise details. He wants to know if you'll arrange the _games_ , like usual." He said the word games like it was something dirty.

 

"Games? Uh, volleyball?"

 

"Oh yeah, volleyball. With wet t-shirts. And some game called 'Name That Alcohol' came up in conversation," Jethro said with a growl. "Were you gonna tell me about this little bender you were planning or did you think I wouldn't notice if you went missing for a week?"

 

Tony squirmed a little. "Yeah, sure, I was gonna tell you about it."

 

Jethro raised an eyebrow.

 

"Okay, the truth is I wasn't going to mention it because I wasn't going."

 

Jethro looked at him in disbelief.

 

"I didn't even sign up for it, Jethro Steve just took charge and booked me along with the other guys on this cruise to Panama City. Look, I haven't even gone on spring break with the brothers for…I don't know…for five years? Last spring break we were trying to figure out what Leona Phelps was up to with her warehouse full of goods. Remember that? And…and the year before we were all tied up with your mother-in-law, Joanne Fielding, and before that we were busy in Arizona chasing down Dana Risi.

 

"Tony…"

 

"That was a whole lot more fun than any spring break, playing cowboy with you and Sheriff Boyd, camping out under the stars, wasn't it? Of course there was the issue with waiting to find out about my inheritance but…The year before, well, no way was I going on any break with my frat brothers when we had a missing radar to locate because we all know the job comes first and…"

 

Gibbs was looking at him with a slightly disappointed expression, which Tony hated. "Tony…" He took hold of Tony's hand and squeezed it, which quietened him right down.

 

"Yes, Boss?"

 

"Do you want to go?"

 

Tony said, "What? No! No way." Gibbs waited and Tony sighed and said, "Look, I signed up months ago, before we…before you and me. And I forgot about it and then when Steve emailed me with a reminder, I thought no _way_ did I want to go on some hell-raising cruise with the brothers so I emailed him that I was going to back out. The ticket…this package…was already in the mail but they agreed to refund my deposit. Hey, I'm too old for binge drinking, although seeing babes in bikinis never grows old." There really wasn't much more to say and Jethro was probably itching to slap him by now, so Tony shut up.

 

Jethro narrowed his eyes at Tony and asked, "Babes in bikinis?"

 

"Oh no, no. I'd never _touch_ , Jethro. And besides, I only have eyes for you these days," Tony protested, and although he meant it, it didn't appear that Jethro was too pleased. It dawned on Tony that Jethro should be a lot happier than he seemed to be, knowing that Tony changed his mind about spending a week with his frat brothers. "You don't believe me?" Tony asked in a small voice.

 

"Oh, I know you wouldn't touch, Tony," Jethro said, sounding tired.

 

"Is there something else going on here?"

 

Jethro looked at their entwined fingers for a moment and then said, as if it were difficult to get the words out, "I'm not asking you to give it up."

 

"It's a done deal. I've cancelled," said Tony, knowing he had done the right thing.

 

Jethro sounded almost angry when he said, "I don't want you giving up your vacation because of me, Tony."

 

His voice rising a little in response, Tony said, "Well, I'm not giving it up because of _you_. Okay, I guess I am, technically, but I really don't want to spend my precious free time doing beer bongs and judging wet t-shirt contests and besides, although I really hate that I have to say this, I'm too old for it and… What's wrong? It's _you_ I want to spend my time with, Jethro. You're my boyfriend," he appealed.

 

Jethro drained the rest of his beer and let go of Tony's hand so he could fiddle with the label for a bit. "Your friend is talkative," he said casually.

 

Oh shit, Steve liked to tell stories about the raucous things they'd done, going all the way back to their Ohio State days, if Tony knew anything. "I'll bet he had some crazy stories to tell, huh? Like when we liberated a cow from the Ag Science barn and drove it up the stairs to the Dean's office? Man, that was one stinky mess the next morning, cow poop everywhere. Or was it the time we did a panty raid and the sorority girls turned the tables on us and locked us out on the balcony – naked? Not easy to explain to the campus cops, let me tell you."

 

Jethro shook his head. "Nope. More like your personal scorecard, DiNozzo, and I'm not talking about on the playing field." He said, his tone low and dangerous, "Something about keeping a chart of the quality and quantity of your conquests, and a paddle you used, Spanky?"

 

Oh shit. Putting on an innocent face, Tony laughed and said, "Oh, yeah, well, those were crazy days, Jethro. In fact, I drank so much beer back then that my memory has these great big holes in it, holes the size of a Mack truck. I can't recall a thing about any scorecard."

 

Jethro raised his eyebrows and sent Tony an 'uh huh' kind of look that left Tony scrambling to explain. The more he said about the girls he had taken out, the deeper a hole he dug, so in the end Tony took a deep breath and said defensively, "You know what? That was years ago. Yeah, I slept around. So what? I liked the chase, Boss, the skirts and…okay, _occasionally_ a member of the opposing football team. And later one, when I was a cop I met plenty of ladies who were more than willing to date me, even if it was usually only one night and…uh…it was all in the name of fun."

 

Gibbs was staring at him, not a happy camper, and although Tony knew he should shut his mouth, he continued on. "I mean, you know how it is. You had lots of girls gathering around you, right? And then, in the Marines, there must have been a lot of hanky panky going on with all those horny testosterone-laden guys. Showers, sleeping bags and foxholes, right? And all those redheads and then Hart and Mann and…and the _wives_ , too. Mustn't forget the wives, although they do say that marriage kills off the libido quicker than a North Pole carwash." Something about the set of Jethro's mouth warned Tony to shut the hell up, and for once, he listened to himself.

 

"You finished?"

 

"Uh, I guess. Unless you maybe want to share some stories?"

 

Jethro turned and faced Tony. "I didn't sleep around, Tony."

 

"Then what did you do for fun…? Never mind. None of my business."

 

"I got married young. I was faithful to my wife all the time I was in the Corps."

 

"Of course you were, Boss. But before…?"

 

"There was nobody before Shannon."

 

"Oh." That sunk in and Tony smiled. "That's really sweet."

 

Oddly enough, the subject of their past sexual history had never come up before. Jethro had never asked about Tony's past girlfriends, his affairs, his many one-night stands. Tony had never asked Jethro about his sexual exploits, either, and they'd been a couple for almost five months now. Anything they'd mentioned had been in general terms, and to tell the truth, _talking_ about sex was not what the two men did once they entered the bedroom.

 

The reason Tony had never questioned Jethro was because it was well know that the ex-wives were a sore subject, and nobody ever _ever_ mentioned Shannon because she was totally off-limits, like upon-pain-of-death kind of off limits. And anyone Jethro had spent time with since his last divorce, well, Tony knew enough about them – M Aliison Hart, Col. Mann, etc – to know he did not want to know any more about them than he already did. In fact, picturing Gibbs fucking any of those women was not something Tony liked to dwell upon.

 

Yes, it was jealousy, but it was more than that. He believed, truly believed from the bottom of his heart, that Jethro's love for him was the real thing, a forever kind of thing, and anyone they had been with previously was...well, was _nothing_ , in that they didn't matter. Not one bit.

 

The corner of Jethro's mouth twitched as if he were holding back a smile. "And, for the record…I didn't sleep with Hart."

 

"Oh God, I am _so_ glad to hear that, Jethro," Tony gushed. "That woman has claws, like an evil beast. You have no idea how much I hated the thought that she'd even touched you." He shuddered.

 

"I didn't say she didn't touch me," Jethro said, the smile breaking through for a moment. "It didn't go anywhere, so forget her."

 

"Good," said Tony, meaning it.

 

Jethro said, "Look, Tony…so you dated. I get it, I'm a guy. Only…"

 

"Only I dated a _lot_." Ton nodded in understanding. "Actually, what I did was sleep around. I was easy and everyone knew it. I was reckless, practically non-stop during my college years…and when I was in Peoria and Philly and. . .Baltimore. I mean, I _earned_ the name sex machine." Jethro's smile disappeared but Tony grasped one of his hands. "But you have to understand something, Jethro. That was years ago. That was back when I wasn't a very nice person, before I truly understood how excess does not equal satisfaction, and that I was addicted to some pretty bad habits, all of my own making. That was before I met you and you gave me a chance at something better. Before I fell in love with you. All of the stuff with Danny and Wendy that I was trying to get past, and the old crap with my father…You came along and just knowing you made me understand what was important in life. I changed because you taught me what was right, what was good. You've given me so much more than love, Jethro. You've given me myself back, and the ability to deal with it, and for that I love you more than you'll ever know. You're the man, always have been. I mean, I get butterflies in my stomach when you look at me a certain way. I picture us ten, twenty years from now. And I know this'll be a shock to just about everyone we've even known in our lifetime, but I love you because when you _do_ speak, I love to listen to you talk even if it's only a couple of words…and…I'm making a complete idiot of myself but I'd never look at anyone else…well, I look but I don't _look_. I only have eyes for you and…as sappy as it may sound, you're my everything."

 

Jethro looked directly at Tony, his blue eyes intent. "Are you done?"

 

Tony opened his mouth to assure Jethro that he was completely done, but Jethro clamped his palm over Tony's mouth and shook his head. "No."

 

"Mnoh?" said Tony from behind Jethro's hand, his word muffled.

 

"No talking, Tony."

 

Tony nodded. "Mokay."

 

Jethro uncovered Tony's mouth, slowly, as if he were afraid something would fly out. "You have to promise," Jethro said, looking stern.

 

Tony almost spoke but instead he sent Jethro a questioning look. _What?_

"Just promise."

 

Tony nodded, a smile dawning on his lips. He'd promise Jethro anything.

 

Jethro studied him for a moment and then nodded, apparently satisfied. "Good. I'm holding you to it."

 

"What?" slipped out. Tony mouthed, _'Sorry_.'

 

Jethro's arms slid around Tony's back, one low down where one hand slipped under the waistband of his pants, the other behind his shoulder blades, fingers spread wide. He drew Tony close, his eyes deadly serious. "No more looking. Not at _anyone_. No women. No _men_. No witnesses wearing bunny slippers, for Chrissake." Tony laughed but Jethro held him even tighter and growled into the soft skin under Tony's ear, "Promise me."

 

"I promise," Tony murmured, turned on by Jethro's warm breath. He turned his head a little and sought Jethro's mouth and finally they kissed, lips slanting across each other's, tongues touching and delving, and Tony could feel his cock hardening, and what felt even more amazing was Jethro's cock, hard against his belly, and next thing he knew he was being dragged off the couch and upstairs to bed.

 

Tony was beyond thinking of anything except wanting, _needing_ the length of Jethro's cock inside him, and soon. They stripped quickly, eager to the point of desperation, and the minute they were naked and on the bed, Tony started kissing his way down Jethro's exposed skin. He nipped at his throat and armpits, clawed at the broad, muscular back like he was starving to get inside him. Tony kissed his way down to Jethro's hairy thighs and heavy balls, sucking and teasing with his lips and tongue until Jethro grabbed his hair and growled, "Now," in that deep sexy voice he got whenever he gave Tony orders.

 

Finally, Tony took Jethro's length in his mouth and sucked and swirled his tongue until Jethro was rock hard and gripping his shoulders, his breathing harsh. All of a sudden, Jethro rolled them over, pulling Tony's hips higher so he could enter him and then thrust deeply into him again and again.

 

Tony moaned with abandon and arched his back, and damn it felt so good, pleasure zipping through his cock and he didn't give a fuck that he screamed when he came.

 

With his fingers buried in Tony's hair and his cock in Tony's ass, Jethro let go just after Tony did, his shoulders shuddering, thighs trembling as he came hard inside him. Together they collapsed, panting like dogs and sticky with come and sweat, laughing at themselves and at the sheer joy they'd found together.

 

And as he snuggled against Jethro's chest and sighed with happiness, Tony thought how damned lucky he was to have a boyfriend who accepted him and could look beyond his past to see what a bright future they had together.

 

"Twenty years, huh?" Jethro asked, his voice soft, as he kissed the top of Tony's head.

 

Tony blinked and smiled as he got what Jethro was asking. "Mmm. More like forever."

 

* * * – * * *


End file.
